A three-chapter postscript to Shepard's epic journey, closure for the ones he/she (and we) loved, and a tribute to the heroism of those who fought for their galaxy. Hope you like it!

Point of clarification: Liara will make her entrance in chapter two. Also edited in a missing ellipsis I could've sworn was already there...

Armored to the crest and bearing massive shotguns, the four krogan marching through the Presidium drew as many wide-eyed looks as the geth Assembly delegation.

Some onlookers seemed curious; others, fearful. Those who recognized the significance of their armor's design – at least, that it was significant – stepped back, engaging in whispered conversation, fascinated and excited and apprehensive.

The krogan marched on. Unaffected, unwavering. Strong.

A welcome sight.

Standing at the foot of the Presidium's greatest ornament, Wrex nodded in approval. Not many young krogan would be able to brush off such overwhelming attention. These four had good heads about them – as collected and confident as warriors of old.

They will be fine members of our race.

He watched as a human C-Sec officer planted himself in the way, gesturing wildly. Probably spouting some nonsense about firearm regulations –

"You want me to arrest you?"

Wrex narrowed his eyes. "I want you to try."

"And I would rather you save it for Fist."

A female, human, bearing several rifles and flanked by a pair of Alliance marines, a sardonic grin beneath haunted eyes –

– he blinked, realizing his mouth was drawn up in a smile, a smile he quickly suppressed. Grinning like an idiot in public at a memory. I need a drink.

A dismissive grunt, a cold shoulder, and the human officer went sprawling. His companions drew their pistols, but Wrex's krogan marched through them with purpose in their stride. The officers continued to shout but hesitated to follow.

Disappointing. Back to the old days, when no one had any backbone. Twenty years ago someone might have started a fight. Would've been fun, too…

Wrex chuckled at the thought, drawing anxious glances from a nearby pair of asari – who quickly turned away at his answering glare.

Well, at least some things didn't change.

And yet…

Their fear of his strength brought him none of the pride it once would have. Even now, a quarter of a century after the Reaper War, the Citadel bore great scars as a testament to the battles it had witnessed (and hosted), but within its weathered exterior its inhabitants had begun to grow soft.

It showed in the new Presidium's gentle glow, in the wavy curves of the shining white walls. It showed in the gentle hum of the hovercars, in the quiet tinkling of the fountains pouring their streams of light into the sparkling reservoir. It showed in the relaxed expressions of the milling people, in the casual, meandering pace of life.

And it showed in the way they backed down from confrontation.

It showed in everything. Everything, except…

Wrex looked up.

Rising a hundred feet into the air, dull steel formed the likeness of a human female, a soldier in N7 armor. The Council had commissioned it, their last act before being folded into the Assembly. Had they known it would become the destination of hundreds of thousands of krogan on Pilgrimage (let alone the millions who visited every week), they might have thought twice about placing it in the center of the Presidium.

But then, they had never really understood Shepard's effect on the people of the galaxy.

"Father."

His son stood before him.

"Mordin." Wrex nodded a greeting at the other three krogan. "And the sons of Urdnot Grunt. If he were alive today, he would approve of your coming."

The four youths gathered around Wrex, and his old instincts kicked into action. His eyes flicked rapidly from one to the other, evaluating their stance, alertness, how many weapons they carried and where. The air roiled with the tension between them.

And he knew they could sense it, too. They refused to back down from his stare despite their apprehension. I may be the strongest krogan now, but in a century…

"Good."

He relaxed, and the four grinned at each other, nodding in appreciation and pride. Wrex had to fight to keep the smile from his own face – the bonds between the four were strong. They would not wither or break, would only tighten as years lengthened into centuries.

Vakarian would appreciate these pups.

"Now stop grinning like you just killed a thresher maw. I'm not so old that I couldn't take you all in a fight." Though they did kill a thresher maw…pups, maybe, but pups with teeth.

"Why were you grinning just now?"

Wrex narrowed his eyes at Altor, Grunt's youngest son. Apparently the one with the loosest tongue as well. "I witnessed your brush with C-Sec. It reminded me of another time, another place…" The shootout in Chora's Den – only the first of many we fought together, Shepard. "…before I deserved to become a warlord. C-Sec didn't push a confrontation then, either."

"They're fools," Karak, the largest of Grunt's sons, snorted. "No spine at all. Their fathers could only be varren, and their mothers –"

He reeled backward with a roar, eyes rolling about in a daze. Wrex glared at him, massaging his head where he'd slammed it into the other krogan's. I'll feel that one tomorrow…

"You don't know a thing, child." Hmm. Even the offspring of such a strong warrior as Grunt can be a fool. "These pyjaks couldn't shoot a gun if you held it for them. But their parents were warriors."

Pushing his way through the young krogan, Wrex strolled to the nearby railing. The reservoir glittered in the artificial light. "You wouldn't believe it – hell, there are times I don't believe it myself – but there was a time when the Citadel's inhabitants had a fighting spirit to rival that of our greatest."

Nodding, he turned back to his audience. "Do you know why you're here?"

The youths glanced at each other.

Wrex sighed. "Your Rite was a test of your courage and skill, but also of your teamwork. You proved you were strong, you showed you could survive, you joined the clan. Combat, skill, and trust guided you."

"Your Pilgrimage is different."

He pressed a finger against Karak's head, holding the young krogan's eyes with a sharp glare. "Bailey."

Shifting his gaze to the others, he poked their crests in turn. "Huntsman. Krios. Renala. Engrave these names in your mind. These, and the rest: Aethyta, Oraka, Haron, T'Loak, Fredricks, Sha'ira, Verner…"

Eyes wide, Saldek, the quietest of Grunt's sons, nodded slowly. "Bailey…these names…they were on the Citadel during the Battle of Earth, weren't they?"

"We gave them up for dead. The Citadel had closed on them with a Reaper inside," Wrex said, recalling the tales that had spread like wildfire after the victory. Many of these heroes had killed enough Reaper soldiers to make any krogan sick with envy. Some, like Krios, had become local legends only a step below Shepard.

And Bailey…Bailey, whose statue of honor stood in the center of C-Sec's former headquarters, who had coordinated the entire station's defense, who had battled with massive losses through the thickest of the enemy forces to the docks, who had piloted the blazing cargo freighter that had finally brought down the Reaper.

"But they fought…and they won."

Riveted by his words, the young krogan seemed as statues themselves. There was no tension in their motionless stance, but neither did they seem idle. Alert, aware of their surroundings yet spellbound by Wrex's meaning.

Good.

"Now tell me. Why are you here?"

"To listen."

They all turned to Saldek, whose expression glowed with fascination. "You're here. You worked with Shepard. You fought with her. You know what it is like to travel with a living legend…to fight for something greater than glory or credits."

A sharp intake of breath, the beginnings of a smile, his eyes alight. "And to stand here, on the Citadel, in the heart of galactic civilization, with Shepard watching over us…"

Wrex chuckled. More of a scholar than a warrior…not that one excludes the other. I should refer him to T'soni. "I like how you think, boy."

He climbed onto the statue's base. Turning to face the youths below, he said, "Legends, myths, tales of the dead…we think we honor the fallen with our telling. And we do, for we ensure that they live on even in death. But they inspire us, drive us to greater heights."

The memories came then. Pulling the trigger into a geth's gut, dodging the falling rock as he sprinted toward an unsteady elevator. Spitting out dust, wiping away the slime from the ancient growth that had tried to kill them. Fighting his own kind beside a turian and a human, their twin rifles cracking away with the rapid thunder of covering fire. A human woman, her features sharp and sad, yet grinning as she heaved a scarred chestplate into his shocked hands.

"Sometimes I wonder who feels more honored."

We made our own stories, Shepard. But a story untold is a story only half finished.

"Let me tell you about a world called Noveria."

Curious passersby slowed, turned to watch the unusual sight. Krogan often came by this statue, but rarely ones with such presence. Some onlookers inched forward, drawn by the intensity of the krogan at the statue, catching some of the words, recognizing their power and truth.

They gathered at Wrex's feet, first scores, then hundreds brought together by chance and the desire to listen.

And Wrex told them.

Two hours later…

Some of the sights before him would linger in his thoughts for weeks.

A pack of young humans, soft-faced and innocent-eyed, did not even seem to realize the story had ended. A trio of geth stood at ease among the listeners. An old batarian, scarred and crippled, shook his head at the statue with a resigned grin. In the back of the crowd, an asari with a white dress and milky eyes peered at Wrex before turning and walking away with shaky steps.

Wrex caught himself nodding. He felt…he couldn't quite make out how he felt. There was pride, of course, and satisfaction, and relief at having managed to speak for so long. But there was exhaustion, too, a weariness that had nothing to do with hours of constant speech. And…not sadness, no, but…and yet perhaps that was...

The crowd of hundreds was staring at him.

Wrex sighed. If they're expecting a krogan warlord to give them advice, they'll be here a long time. I can always talk to Mordin's krant later. "There are things I could say. Words of wisdom, what it all means, family, forgiveness, sacrifice…hrmph. But you've already heard the important ones. You already know what it means. You don't need any more than that."

Some departed with slow strides, but most of the assembled beings remained. Wrex frowned. Did this always happen at a Pilgrimage? At this rate he'd have to push his way out…not that he minded, in fact he rather relished the idea, but even if they were all just going to stand there, even if Grunt's boys were fools, Wrex's own son was –

"Tell us another story, Father." At the head of the crowd, Mordin lifted his chin, his orange eyes intense.

Wrex rolled the tightness from his shoulders. I see. "It's late, Mordin, and –"

"We came to learn about heroism." His son refused to back down. "We came to hear about Shepard."

Two hundred years ago…even twenty years ago, I would have had the energy –

A sea of faces around him, expectant, waiting, hungering.

Wrex took in their awe, their eagerness, their hope, and an odd, buoyant feeling welled up in his chest. A feeling he had only felt once before – as he stood on a rocky outcropping, Bakara's hand in his, a glittering curtain of gold dust snowing from Tuchanka's cloudy sky.

It filled him with strength.

They wish to hear your story, Shepard…not just one chapter, but all that I can tell them. They wish to know you as I did. And long after they're gone, their children's children will tell it to the next generation, and the next, and the next.

"Very well." Who is more honored, Shepard? Does it matter? "One more story…"

A/N: If you succeed at fighting off (or killing) a thresher maw, you get storytime on the Citadel. Yep. A group of krogan on Pilgrimage (they almost always go as a krant) travels to the Presidium statue of Shepard and listens as an older warrior (handpicked by the clan leader) tells a tale from the Reaper War. It always involves other races and a struggle requiring unity as much as courage. It is also a story from the older krogan's own experience.

Wrex himself never played this role until his son's Pilgrimage. Why Noveria over Virmire? I don't know. Both seemed valid to me. His next story would be Virmire, if he could manage to talk nonstop for another couple hours…

In this universe, Grunt died neither on the suicide mission nor with Aralakh Company but made it to Earth, where he finally fell in battle, shot to pieces as he brought down a Harvester amid the hundreds he had slain.

As the legend goes – and as the krogan enthusiastically hold – his final words were, "Battlemaster…that leaves…us…"

Comments and critique are always appreciated! Second chapter up tomorrow.